I've lately become quite enamoured of the short story/micro story, both because the format forces a degree of precision and succinctness as a writer, and because for us lazy procrastinators, it’s easier to actually get a story finished in a reasonable time frame.

So I'll be using this thread to post various (likely mostly unrelated) fan fiction shorts (my original fiction will be mostly not be posted here, because if I think its any good, I try to get it published).

Obvious disclaimer: I don't own any of these stories/series/franchises. My fan fiction is not for profit, and no infringement is intended.

To start with, from a franchise that is near and dear to my heart:

Bigger Fish.

I starred in frozen incomprehension at the thing advancing toward me, its hideous face twisted, its eyes glowing yellow. My mind offered frantic explanations and rationalizations-he's disfigured, its a trick of the light, I must be high, I must be going mad-but I knew in my soul that this was real- horribly, impossibly real. Around me, I could hear the screams and moans of my friends and classmates from the college, along with low growls and... other sounds. The thing opened its mouth in an ugly leer, revealing pointed teeth.

"Well, aren't you just the prettiest little thing? I could go for a tasty morsel right now-"

Their was a flicker of movement behind it, and the thing gasped as something protruded suddenly from its chest. It starred up, its face a mask of horror reflecting my own, and then I swear to God, it collapsed with a roar, dissolving into a swirling cloud of black dust.

Through the dust strode a short, slender figure, a girl who looked not much older than twenty, but she seemed taller somehow, larger than life, as cliche as that sounds. Her blond hair was tied back in a short ponytail, and she looked like she might have been a cheerleader or something, but her face was hard and she held a wooden stake in her hand like a dagger. She met my eyes for a moment.

"You hurt?"

I don't remember answering, but she seemed satisfied that I was fine.

"Then run."

Before I could answer or do as she said, even if I'd been capable of moving just then, another shape sprang out of the darkness. It was a hulking monster, dressed in black leather and metal plates, and though I couldn't see much in the dark, its face looked like a mass of bony protrusions and scales. I was frozen, too terrified to speak or shout a warning, but the blond sensed it coming. With impossible speed and grace, she slipped under the sweep of its sword-a freaking broadsword-then spun and swept its legs out from under it. She brought her stake stabbing down towards its face, but it caught her wrist and with an effort, flipped her over its head. It bounced back to its feet, faster than should have been possible for something so bulky, and sprang after her, and I starred in horror as it raise its sword for the kill-

Hands wrapped around its neck and grasped the sides of its head, then twisted violently. There was a terrible crack, and it collapsed limply to the sand. Its killer stepped over it with barely a glance at it or the blond, and I saw in the flickering fire that her skin and hair appeared tinted blue.

"Thanks Illyria", I heard the blond mutter as she got to her feet.

The blue woman continued down the beach, toward a clump of struggling men and women.

"Your gratitude is unnecessary Buffy. This fight pleases me, and the Gurlak's head will make a fine trophy." I watched as the blue woman tore into a pack of the yellow-eyed creatures, five clouds of dust in as many seconds.

The water of the lake began to boil, and the people, and things, closest to the shore began to scatter, running for higher ground. The blue woman assumed a fighting stance, facing the churning waters. Then suddenly something, long and slender like a giant whip, snapped out of the lake and wrapped itself around her waste, dragging her towards the water. She clawed at the tentacle, leaving deep gashes in it, and a high-pitched scream echoed over the beach. It grated on my nerves, on my soul, and I cried out, shutting my eyes and covering my ears as that unearthly noise tore at my mind.

The noise cut off abruptly as a flash of light lit up the night, bright enough to hurt my eyes even through my closed eyelids. A boom echoed over the beach, and then everything went very quiet. I lay gasping for a few moments, before my curiosity outweighed my fear and I opened my eyes.

The beach was deserted, except for the bodies, and a small cluster of people standing between me and the lake's edge. A tall dyed-blond man in a black leather coat was helping blue girl to her feet, though she quickly shrugged off his assistance. The blond was looking up, and I followed her gaze to see a small red haired woman float down like a leaf on the wind and land gently on the beach.

"What was that, Will", I heard the blond ask. Will, I thought randomly… isn’t that a boy’s name?

"I'm not sure, but I think that was Glothoraung the Devourer, Drowner of Souls."

"Guess he wasn't counting on the world's greatest witch."

"What can I say", the red-head smiled. "There's always a bigger fish."

"I know its easy to be defeatist here because nothing has seemingly reigned Trump in so far. But I will say this: every asshole succeeds until finally, they don't. Again, 18 months before he resigned, Nixon had a sky-high approval rating of 67%. Harvey Weinstein was winning Oscars until one day, he definitely wasn't."-John Oliver: https://youtube.com/watch?v=zxT8CM8XntA

"How long?" Commander Bareil starred straight ahead at the Chekov’s view screen, his body rigid with barely controlled tension. He wondered if this was how men felt on their way to the firing squad. How his father had felt, when the Cardassians took him away to die, one of hundreds killed in retribution for the Resistance's attacks.

"Approximately two minutes, Sir", Ensign Romanov replied quietly, and once again he wished that she'd taken that transfer to Vulcan. She was too damn young to be here, and too damn brave not to be.

He glanced sidelong at the cool features of Lt. Commander T'pel. His First Office's features were calm, but there was something in her eyes that he'd never seen before. Was it fear?

"Fleet wide message coming in from the Chin'toka", Ensign Romanov said in a strained voice. "Shall I put it on speakers, sir?"

He nodded absently, then hastily clarified.

"Yes Ensign." There was a pause, and then the calm, stern voice of Admiral Jellico came over the channel.

"This is Admiral Jellico. All ships to battle stations.

To paraphrase a man who's name is now legend- Starfleet expects that every being will do their duty."

Commander Bariel smiled tightly as the brief message ended. He knew then that it would be the last time he ever heard the Admiral's voice.

Don't think like that, he told himself. You don't know. There's always a chance. We've survived worse, we all have.

It sounded hollow even in his head, though, and he could not shake the sudden certainty that this time, they would not escape.

"Thirty seconds, sir", Ensign Romanov said.

"Status, Lt. Shar?" The Andorian Lt. replied from his station at Tactical, his voice calm and matter of fact.

"Shields and structural integrity fields at half-power. All available power has been directed to sensors, impulse drives, and weapons."

"Thank you, Lt.". A few months ago, he never would have imagined directing power away from shields and structural integrity fields before going into battle, but their defenses wouldn't help them here. If you were hit, you were dead. A single one of those damned turbo lasers would go through his shields and hull like lighting through a clear sky.

He glanced at Lt. Commander T'Pel again. She met his eyes briefly, her features coldly beautiful, and he swallowed. There was so much that he wanted to say, but now, they would never get the chance. His denials were hollow, so he simply nodded, trying to convey in that one gesture a lifetime of admiration and respect. After a moment, she returned it, and then they both turned back to face the view screen, and the streaks of warp flight as they raced towards the inevitable.

He glanced at his control panel, counting down the seconds. Ten, nine, eight...

They dropped out of warp, the streaks of light snapping back to normal, star-strewn space. Before them, like a great spider web in space, hung the shipyards and facilities of Bastion Station, ringed by battle stations and sensor and communications arrays. Strange, he thought again, that the Imperials’ technology and culture, like their biology, in so many ways resembled their own, and yet was so utterly alien in its power and will to destroy. Directly ahead of them, waiting, lay a trio of Star Destroyers, the mile-long daggers that had become synonymous with utter destruction seeming almost tiny at this distance.

But around them lay the fleet, everything that could be cobbled together, conscripted, or pulled out of mothballs after the slaughters at Quo'nos and Eridani, from science ships like the Chekov to hundred-year old ore haulers to untested prototypes to Orion mercenaries, five hundred and seventy three ships of the last fleet of the Grand Alliance. There were a handful of proper warships too- he could see the USS Chin'toka, flagship of the fleet, swinging around to face the enemy a few thousand kilometers ahead. Their were even, he knew, a few old Bajoran attack ships, towed by the larger vessels because their obsolete warp drives couldn't match the speeds of the newer designs. The thought, and the sight of this fleet, made his heart ache with desperate pride and love. They might be outnumbered, outmatched, outgunned, but they were here. He had to believe that that would mean something, that such valor and resolve could not perish for nothing. He found himself grinning fiercely, the adrenalin surging through him lending him a kind of almost manic energy. Was this how they'd felt, those martyrs of the Resistance? His cousins? Father?

I'll see you soon, he thought. But first, we're going to give these Wraith-spawned bastards a hell of a show.

"The Chin'toka is signaling", Ensign Romanov said, and though her voice trembled slightly, the words were loud and clear. "All vessels lock on coordinates and fire at will."

The first wave of torpedos was already racing out, orange and yellow orbs crossing the distance to the waiting enemy. Green turbolaser bolts raced back to meet them, passed them halfway, inter-mixed with the blue-white pulses of ion canons. He watched as if in a dream as the storm of brilliant death struck the front of the fleet, vessels vaporizing by the dozen, secondary explosions from proximity detonations destroying some of the smaller ships, as he finally witnessed for himself the firepower that had destroyed whole fleets. He never saw when the Chin'toka died. He watched as tens of thousands perished in an instant, as the wave of fiery destruction swept over the fleet towards them. He sat unmoving, unable to turn away, and found himself leaning forward slightly as though in anticipation, almost eager for that wave of fire to hit them. The view screen went white, and the Chekov[?i] lurched, nearly throwing him from his chair. He heard a scream from behind him and felt hot sparks rain down on him as Ensign Romanov's consul exploded, saw the impact toss Lt. Nox from his chair.

And then they were through the fire, impossibly alive, with nothing but open space crisscrossed with diminishing weapons fire between them and the Imperial fleet, as the wave of torpedoes fired by ships now dust and gas washed over their shields like drops of rain. He turned to T'Pel and-

The End.

"I know its easy to be defeatist here because nothing has seemingly reigned Trump in so far. But I will say this: every asshole succeeds until finally, they don't. Again, 18 months before he resigned, Nixon had a sky-high approval rating of 67%. Harvey Weinstein was winning Oscars until one day, he definitely wasn't."-John Oliver: https://youtube.com/watch?v=zxT8CM8XntA